A New Kind of Dead
by JustMeP
Summary: ** SPOILERS for S9 finale! ** Usually when he's unconscious he's, well, unconscious. Not hearing everything, being aware but not able to respond. And usually when he's dead, he's pretty damn dead.


**A/N:** I watched the finale. Then I wasn't coherent enough to write a reaction, so I wrote a fic instead. A quick, angsty character study of Dean (shocking, I know). A missing scene, of sorts.

"Sam. Hold up. Hold up", He cries, and they stop.

"I got to say something to you," Dean says, smiling weakly. It takes everything just to talk right now, just to breath.

"What?" Sam asks, panting and looking at him with that worried look Sam gets when shit get serious.

Dean smiles, but it hurts. It hurts to smile, to breathe, to talk, to hold on to Sam, to hold on to life. It's not like it's a new feeling – no, Dean knows exactly how it feels like to die in agony, he knows pain, torture, aching, dying. It's still a surprise, though. Still surprisingly painful to die. At least he went down swinging, like he usually does.  
So it hurts, but he keeps smiling. Because Sam's there. After all that's happened, after all that's been said and done, Sam's there by his side like he should be, like they both should. Dean almost wishes he wasn't because since he does and if he cares, it would hurt him. But he's there, and he does and that's what makes Dean smile.  
He reaches out, holding Sam's shoulder like it's the only thing that matters, holding his face, looking straight in his younger brother's eyes and trying to say what he really wants to, but the words won't come out.  
"I'm proud of us," he says, instead.  
Then Dean closes his eyes.

"No, no, hey, hey, hey. Hey, wake up buddy," Sam cries, "Hey. Dean. Dean!" and now he's holding Dean even tighter, sobbing.  
They stay like that for god knows how long until Sam stops, takes a deep breath and lifts Dean from the concrete floor, carrying him somewhere. Dean wants to call out to him, to tell him its fine. He can hear him, he just can't find the strength to answer. Apparently you don't get to get rid of me that fast, Sammy. But he can't.

And that, that's new for a change. Usually when he's unconscious he's, well, unconscious. Not hearing everything, being aware but not able to respond. And usually when he's dead, he's pretty damn dead; Gone, kaput, cease and deceased, left the building. Not feeling like he just got stabbed in the chest which frankly, he just did, not staying where he was. When he dies (and when exactly that phrase became Present Simple?) he's somewhere else, not just lying there lifeless, but alive.  
He can feel Sam's hands holding him, shaking, laying him gently on – is that leather he smells? Yes, he can _smell_ his baby. Laying him gently in the back seat of the Impala, because Dean can smell and hear and feel and think - but either his eyes are shut or he's blind, and paralyzed and can't do a damn thing. But not dead. Definitely not dead.

Unless, of course, that's a new kind of dead. Dead, with heaven's door sealed because he failed, again. Failed to stop Metatron, failed Sam, failed Cas. Panic starts to build in his – dead? – chest, because dying and going to heaven is one thing. Dying and going to hell, he knows. Dying and not feeling or knowing anything is also fine by Dean. Dying and just sitting there locked away? That's a whole different story. He wants to scream because he remembers, but he can't. He remembers waking up in a coffin six feet under, fighting to breath, only this time he's not going to be able to get out. But – no, Sam won't make the same mistake twice. Hunter's funeral, that's how it goes, with fire surrounding him, and then what?

He didn't notice that they moved, so it's no surprise he doesn't apprehend that they stopped, that Sam's carrying him again. There's another smell now, the smell of old books and gun powder, a trace of sweat and a hint of cologne and – yeah, he doesn't need his eyes to know they're in the bunker, either. Sam doesn't say anything, doesn't make a sound, just panting, and he can feel it all, and it still hurts, and Sam's laying him again and – a bed. His bed.  
Then there's footsteps, and no panting, and Sam's gone.

He stays like that in silence – not like he can chat, can he, or do any damn thing. And that really, really sucks. Dean's bored already and he's been dead for a couple hours, tops. So when hears footsteps again, he's so grateful he doesn't even notice they're not his brother's.

"Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak. Make a deal, bring you back," And that's just fucking wrong, because Crowley's in the bunker with him and Sam isn't there, and the very last thing on his wishlist – dying wish, any wish – is to be a captive audience for Crowley.

"It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so… expected," The demon says and he's speaking slowly like he's calculating every word. And he's speaking _to_ Dean, not about him. Dean doesn't have any choice but to sit there and listen.

"You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really. I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental. But… there is one story about Cain that I might have... forgotten to tell you," And by that point, Dean can almost feel his heart racing even though he's not sure it's even working at the moment, and he's raging. It's bad enough Crowley's there in his room, _in his house_, but his words are dangerous and there's a familiar feeling starting to build up, that urge, that craving, that _need._

Crowley doesn't stop talking but his voice is fading out, the sound of blood pumping in his veins taking its place in Dean's mind. He's going to kill him. He's going to kill Crowley even if it's the last-last thing he does. He's going to get up, take the blade and kill that son of a bitch once and for all. Then he's going to find Metatron and kill that son of a bitch as well. He _needs_ to kill them. He _needs_ to kill.  
"Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now - it's not death. It's life - a new kind of life," Crowley's voice is clearer, now. But it doesn't matter. After he kills him and kills Metatron he'll find Cas, then he'll talk to Sam, but first of all he needs to kill.

"Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see,"  
And suddenly it stops, Dean stops, stops thinking about killing and concentrating on what Crowley's saying and he's thinking clear for the first time in a long time. And there's a sudden realization, one that makes him want to scream louder than any thought of closed coffins and spending forever in them. Suddenly, Dean understands. Only he can't say anything, can't move.  
"Feel what I feel,"  
There's nothing he can do. He knows what's happening, can feel it, but it's too late, he knows it is and he tries but -  
"Let's go take a howl at that moon."  
Then, something opens Dean's eyes.


End file.
